Oh! May I request Tfp Optimus just getting some soft, romantic loving please? Just some cherishing the old archivist turned prime 🙏🥺
TFP Optimus Prime x GN Cybertronian Reader
This is some fluffthat gets low- key sad at the end but it's supposed to be cute or whatever.
Reader is referred to as bot instead of mech or femme.
Readers frame type is unspecified.
Optimus remembers stuff he found in the archives.
Sorry it took forever, I hope you like it :)
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"Tell me about pre-golden age art again, please?", Optimus chuckles, "Alright," he tries to think about a piece he hasn't told you about before. You're sitting in between his legs, your back resting on his chest. He is sitting against a large boulder, apple blossom petals fall all around the two of you. You're sitting on a hill not too far away from an orchard, the red fruit is just starting to grow and the small buds break the petals from the trees. He can recall so many of the pieces he's seen in the archives, paintings and drawings, sculptures and memorial statues, old photos of scenery or the stars or of beautiful models, their frame types are outdated but gorgeous nonetheless. He hadn't, however, had the pleasure of touching these works with his servos and only knew them from pictures stored on datapads and the rare handwritten documents with hard copied photos of said pieces. He thought long and hard, but he knew he could sit there quiet for hours and you would wait patiently, if he really wanted, he knew he could make you wait for days.
He smiled and let out a deep exvent, his engine rumbling against you, 'that's the one', he thought as he shuffled a bit to get a little more comfortable. "There is a gorgeous painting, scenery, with one subject, the colors were beautiful and blended together perfectly. The medium used was an off world paint, aliens had traded with the artist, their planet and race be kept secret and the artist could take the materials from their home back to Cybertron to make their vibrant paints.", you laid your helm against his chest and faced westward, waiting for the sun to start setting. You could sit with him for days, hell, years, listening to him talk about things stored in the archives. He's told you about old wars, alien races that had come and gone, music, art, the different frame types that evolved over the centuries; you missed Cybertron and his memories were as close as you could get, yours were colorful but stale. "The subject in the painting was humanoid, it was by itself, the mood was solemn and bittersweet. Their skin was a blue with hints of green and purples, they wore long flowing fabrics and stared longingly into the horizon but their face wasn't visible. And the color of the sky was a Grey swirled with powdery pinks and yellows.", you could picture it in your processor. You closed your optics when he had started describing the background; he was looking at you, he always watched your face if he could when he told you these things. You made funny faces sometimes, you showed a lot of emotion when he retold accounts of grief or happiness, you had beamed when he first told you about how Cybertron got it's very first taste of "radical expressionism".
His servos wrapped around your chest as he continued describing the painting, feeling the vibrations and warmth your engine was exuding. He continued to watch your faceplate, you smiled and then expressed surprise when he talked about the shapes of the clouds, he would definitely remember every twitch of the corners of your optics and slight curve of your derma. "The grass they sat upon was red, a dark and angry crimson.", he looked in the direction your helm was facing, the sun would be setting soon and the sky would change colors. Your servos moved up and took hold of one of his, fiddling with the digits, bending and curling them. His legs tightened around your hips, the bottom sides of his pedes connecting to cradle your stabilizers, like a carrier would do for their sparkling. His optics widened a bit as they closed in on one of the petals, "look.", he said as he caught one in his empty servo, your optics snapped open to look at whatever he wanted to show you. "What?", he held his servo open with the petal in his palm, you stared at it with wide optics, analyzing it as closely as possible, "the pink color of the petals are the color of the sky in that painting.", your face lit up, your fans closed so you wouldn't blow the petal from his servo if you exvented. Your helm tilted to the side just a bit as you took mental images of the soft petal, Optimus looked from the petal to your face again, always so curious.
His spark swelled, he lived for moments like this, he loved showing you the wonders of earth, the insects and other animals and the plant life, you loved the plant life the most. Yet, you hardly left the base, opting to stay and help Ratchet instead of going out and doing recon with one of the others. He chuckled at the thought, but he knew you didn't want to go out mostly because the desert reminded you of the oceans of rust, oh how you detested it. You turned your helm in his direction and optics looking into his own, "that's really the same color as in the painting?", you were running your fans again, you always held your invents in when you were curious about something. He nodded and you turned your attention back to the petal before it blew away in the gentle breeze, your followed it and noticed the sky starting turning orange and dark blue. With a content smile you leaned back against Optimus and continued to play with his digits, "it must have been beautiful, keep going please.", he put his other servo back to it's place on your chest. He continued on about the painting until the sky went dark and the stars began to shine, the moon was nearly full, just a couple more days.
Nights with the full moon were his favorites because your paint job would practically glow in the pale blue light, the stars didn't shine a whole lot on those nights, but he already has one in his clutches, he has no need for the ones freezing in the vacuum of space. You felt the same way about him too, he knew it, felt it, even though you hadn't spark bonded he could feel the love you felt for him eminate from your chamber. You had gotten up on your knees and moved out from between his legs to stand and stretch and so he could readjust himself, he kept talking about the painting the whole time. When he was finally comfortable you walked back over to him and sat yourself on his thighs, chest to chest, face to face. Your knees were bent, calves flat to the ground and resting against the sides of his stabilizers as your arms wrapped around his waist, you caught his gaze and held it as he finished describing the artwork. I love you's passed between you, jumping back and forth without having to say a word, the glowing of blue and (o/c) optics reflecting off one another's frames. Optimus' servos moved swiftly up your back as he pulled you in for a tight hug, you buried your face in his neck for a moment and then lifted your helm to rest your chin on his shoulder as you returned his hug, "thank you.", you spoke softly and he hummed in response.
The both of you had your optics closed as your frames melted together, engines purring and arms slowly tightening. Optimus felt like if he let go, you would dissappear and he would fall endlessly into a void of indescribable loneliness. It reminded him of an old poem, or what was left of it, it was handwritten and was torn to pieces. The remaining words, while scattered and seemingly meaningless, still made an impression on Optimus when he was younger so he put the words together in the way which he interpreted it.
For the loving gaze reserved only for me.
Yearns for the sweet nectar that drips from your
silver glossa, the golden fruit that is your words,
nourishing and addictive,
Oh how one could starve if not in your presence.
The light of the universe will die when the glow of
Your optics no longer light my berth.
I will go deaf when the sounds of your engine cease,
For my love for you is heavier than the universe,
Until I am nothing but a pile of rust,
If you were to leave my side and join the pool
Of souls in the allspark.
So that when I finally get there myself,
It's fitting, the Prime would surely lose himself if you were to leave his side. He's told this poem to you several times before, each time your optics well up with coolant. The first time you heard it was when he confessed his feelings to you, you nearly sobbed as you held him tight, babbling away, saying you felt the same way about him. That your life would become void of light if he were to die, though it made him sad to think about either of you joining the allspark before the other, he felt a comfort knowing that he really meant that much to you. That he is needed, and very much loved. He squeezes you as tight as he knows he can before he hurts you with a large smile on his face, relishing in the warmth of your frame in the cool breeze. He loves the way you love him, gentle and passionate, it makes him feel like he's back on Cybertron before everything went awry, when he could still indulge in the beauty of what was; at least now, he doesn't have to look backwards in time but just a few pede steps in front of him for the love and comfort he so desperately needs in times like these.
